


Where's the Karma? (You'll get it soon)

by Jauxter



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Family Dynamics, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghostbur is trying his best, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Medical Inaccuracies, Minecraft Mechanics, Not Beta Read, Protective Technoblade, Protective Wilbur Soot, References to Depression, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), they r working on it!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jauxter/pseuds/Jauxter
Summary: Tommy, tired and alone, has been dangerously close to hitting the end of his rope with this whole exile thing. With days worth of Dream's stifling presence wearing him down, one big disappointment is all it takes for Tommy to crack.So he runs.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 352





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I wrote an outline for this in the early hours of the 6th and completely forgot about it until today, so I speedwrote the first chapter, cleaned up the outline for the rest of it, and decided to post it. Honestly i've been trying to write something worthy of being posted for like 2 weeks but smp canon changes so quick it's almost impossible to nail something down before some other big event comes up. Anyway, if you spot any mistakes I apologize, I just wanted to get this out so I'd have some incentive to finish the rest :)
> 
> (Tags are subject to change and everyone in the tags will get an appearance eventually, I promise :))

The day had started just fine. Tommy had walked back to his little tent from a night in his mine to find a spruce tree, adorned with brightly colored ornaments and strings of multi-colored lights waiting for him. Underneath it lay a box with a note on top-

_Tommy,_

_This isn’t out of pity, I just wanted to wish you happy holidays._

_-Puffy :)_

In the box were three diamonds atop a mound of blue wool. Tommy had taken a step back to look at the tree and smiled for the first time in a while. Even if he was thousands of blocks away from everyone else, maybe they did still care about him.

After a short nap, he’d taken the diamonds and a few sticks to make a pickaxe, then set off back into the mine he’d started earlier. A number of hours later, he had a full set of iron armor, a diamond sword, a bunch of coal, extra iron, and a diamond to spare. Content with the sum of his efforts, he made his way back to the surface.

The sun was just setting as he reached the last step out of the mine, casting an orange and pink glow over the land. Hauling himself across the plains to his tent, Tommy was already thinking about the uncomfortable sleeping roll waiting for him. 

Any hope of retiring to sleep early was crushed as soon as his makeshift shelter came into view, the annoying, green-clad figure of Dream stood looking up at his tree. With a sigh, Tommy dragged himself over, the bags under his eyes feeling heavier than normal. Dream looked over at him as he approached.

“Hello Tommy,” Dream said, voice light and casual, “Nice tree you’ve got.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing, grip tightening around the torch in his hand. Dream moved to stand next to a hole in the ground a few yards from his tent.

“Take your armor off.” 

“What? No, why should I?!” Tommy knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Dream’s axe materialized in his hand.

“Drop it down here.” Dream said, gesturing to the pit with his axe. Tommy’s arms shook, a sense of dread filling him.

“Please, I worked really hard for it,” Tommy said quietly, wanting to kick himself for how pathetic he sounded. Dream didn’t budge.

“And you can get it again, now drop it in the pit.” 

With a defeated sigh, Tommy untied the leather straps on his armor and tossed the pieces one by one into the hole, becoming increasingly upset as each one clunked against the bottom. Once he finished, he dramatically held his arms out to the sides.

“Happy?” With a hum, Dream walked around him, poking at the hilt of the sword in his backpack.

“This too.” 

“Why man, why?!” Tommy cried indignantly, “These are the only diamonds I have!”

“Just drop it.”

Tommy ran a hand through his dirty, matted hair, before tugging the glistening blue blade out of his backpack and dropping it down the pit as well, a grimace making its way onto his face.

Dream put his axe away, replaced by a few sticks of dynamite in his hand. With no further theatrics, he dropped the TNT down next to Tommy’s things. Pushing Tommy away from the hole, he took out his bow and nocked an arrow, it’s head bursting into flames. Dream shot down into the pit, and a few moments later a thunderous boom rattled through Tommy, who looked on dejectedly. Dream turned to him, putting his bow away.

“So what have you been up to?” Dream asked innocently. Tommy scoffed, turning back to his tent.

“Fuck off,” He muttered, too tired to care about the creeper inching its way toward him. He could hear its hiss as Dream embedded his axe in the creature’s head behind him. 

“I played chess with Tubbo today,” Dream said as Tommy opened his enderchest and deposited his single diamond. Tommy’s heart clenched and he tilted his head down to look at the floor.

“How was he?” Tommy asked, trying to keep his tone flat even as a few unexpected tears sprung to his eyes.

“I beat him,” Dream said, a smile evident in his voice, “You know, he came here earlier.”

“What?” Tommy froze, eyebrows furrowing. Dream leaned against the supporting pole in his tent.

“Yeah, he came earlier while you were down in the mines.” 

Tommy was silent for a second, before shaking his head. He scrubbed at his eyes as he left his tent, Dream following closely behind him.

“No, no I think you’re just messing with my head,” Tommy said as he walked down the path to Logsted, though uncertainty was clear in his voice.

“Nope, ask Wilbur next time you see him.” Dream said smugly as Tommy tipped the contents of his bag into a barrel, fishing out the iron ore and some coal. The two walked into the one-room cabin Wilbur had built, Dream leaning against the wall.

“Why would the only time he visits be when I’m not there?” Tommy muttered, mostly to himself.

“I don’t know, I’m sure he has a reason.” Dream said. As Tommy placed the ore into the furnace and lit the coals, he could have sworn he heard the slightest bit of sympathy in Dream’s voice.

After a moment, Tommy stood up from his place in front of the furnace and walked out, Dream once again following behind him. As they walked out past the log arch, Tommy shivered. Exile had not been kind to him or his clothes; chilled air bit at the skin exposed by large rips in the knees of his pants and in the sleeves of his shirt. He dropped to the ground, crossing his legs and looking out over the ocean, beginning to pick at the grass. He pointedly ignored Dream who was staring at him intently. After some time of uncharacteristic silence on Tommy’s part, Dream moved away from him.

Before Tommy could register what he was doing, Dream had some obsidian in his hand and was laying a slab of it on the ground. Eyes widening, Tommy jumped to his feet in a panic.

“What are you doing, man?!” Tommy cried, dashing over to stand in front of him. Dream cocked his head to the side.

“Making it easier for people to visit you.” He said, nudging Tommy out of the way before finishing off the portal frame. A click of Dream's flint and steel later and a warbling purple portal flickered to life before them. 

"Why?" Tommy asked, looking up at the portal, dumbfounded. Dream shrugged, moving to stand in front of Tommy. He reached out to place a hand on Tommy's shoulder, bent over slightly to be face to face. 

"Because we're friends, right?" Dream's grip was just tight enough to make his stomach drop, filling him with the urge to run away. The portal's purple light cast menacing shadows across Dream's mask. Tommy audibly swallowed, eyes flicking to the side.

"Sure, Dream. Of course."

\---

Every other day since the day of Tommy’s exile, Dream would visit him. Every other day he’d be there as Tommy returned to his tent, a hole already dug, awaiting Tommy’s hard-earned tools and armor. Every other day he’d stay for a few hours, just talking to Tommy as he regained his lost materials.

Dream quickly became a constant, something solid in Tommy’s shaky routine, if you could even call it that. Only two and a half weeks had passed, but every time Dream came by, Tommy’s compliance came just a bit easier.

Early on a chilly Saturday, Tommy’s return to his tent was welcomed by Dream.

“Go on Tommy, you know the drill by now.” Dream was waiting by a pit in the ground, axe in one hand, TNT in the other.

Tommy sighed, but shed his new iron armor nonetheless and dropped it in. Dream gently whacked him with the flat of his weapon.

“Your axe too.” 

“Of course,” Tommy mumbled, tossing it into the pit as well. Dream rummaged around in his pockets for a second before looking back at Tommy.

“Light it, will you? I forgot my flint and steel.” 

“I don’t want to.” Tommy groaned, but there was no defiance in his voice, the response just hard-wired into him at this point. He got out his own flint and steel, lighting the fuse.

Dream shoved him away from the hole as a familiar explosion shook the ground. Tommy just stared on with dull eyes, before turning and walking away. Dream walked just behind him.

“You know Tommy, I just woke up and came straight to see you.” There was a smile in Dream’s voice, though Tommy couldn’t see it. 

“Why?” Dream grabbed Tommy’s shoulder and turned him to make eye contact.

“Because we’re friends!” _Were they really? Why was he beginning to believe it? He hated Dream, right?_

_When had Dream become the steadiest figure in his life?_

Dream stayed with Tommy for a few hours, talking with him as he began to hack away at tree trunks. He spoke extensively about L’manburg and how well it was doing (without him). Noon came and went, Tommy going to sit in his tent for a break as Dream stepped through the portal down the path. 

Soon, a certain ghost stepped through the portal himself, a smile on his face and guitar in hand. He walked up the path to Tommy’s tent and poked his head inside. There he found Tommy, neck bent awkwardly against his rickety makeshift bed frame, dozing lightly. Wilbur’s smile fell for a moment at the sight of the frown etched on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. 

Wilbur pulled his head back out and turned to face the ocean. The smile returned to his face as he sat down and began to fiddle with the strings of his guitar. After a while, Tommy came out of the tent and startled at the sight of Wilbur. Wilbur tilted his head up to look at him with a grin. 

“Hi, Tommy!” Wilbur gave a little wave. Tommy sighed.

“Hello Ghostbur,” Tommy dropped to sit next to him. Wilbur slung a cold arm around his shoulders, leaning against him slightly.

“So Tommy, I noticed you’ve been a bit down lately,” Wilbur started, putting his guitar to the side. “And it seems that not even the Blue has been helping you much, so I thought to myself _‘What would cheer Tommy up?’_ And I think I’ve got it!”

“Yeah? What’ve you got big man?” Tommy asked with a yawn.

“I was thinking that we throw a little party!” Wilbur smiled, gesturing at the shore, “You’ve got a nice little beach here and everything! I mean, it is getting quite chilly, but it’s still got a nice view!”

“Wilbur, I don’t think Dream would be too pleased with that,” Tommy mumbled, but Wilbur dismissed him with a wave.

“I already pitched the idea to him when we crossed paths in the nether. He said it was fine by him as long as he was allowed to come.” Tommy’s eyes brightened marginally.

“He said it was okay? You’re sure?” Wilbur smiled again, pulling out some paper and a quill.

“Mmh hmm. We could get to writing up invites now if you want. Dream told me he’d even help deliver them!”

The next day was a busy one for Tommy. Instead of spending his time down in the mines like usual, he set to work sprucing up his campsite in high spirits.

He managed to make a few simple wooden lounge chairs, a table, and a few other items one would generally find at a beach. He put up lights, doing his best to balance aesthetics and ability to keep mobs at bay. 

After ensuring the area was presentable, Tommy retired to the cabin in Logsted and set to work repairing his clothes, as best as he could anyway. After a quick midday nap, he set out to a nearby stream to wash as much dirt and coal dust out of his clothes as he could manage. Unable to make a dent in the bloodstains but satisfied for the time being, he then dunked his head under the cold water attempting the same for his hair. After some swearing at the temperature and a good amount of scrubbing with his hands, he’d look more like he’d been in the wilderness for just a few days rather than a few weeks, if not for the scrapes, burns, and bruises that covered him. 

As he looked at what he’d accomplished that day, he couldn’t help but feel a little better, knowing that he wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

\---

So much for feeling better. Tommy should have known it was too good to be true.

On the day and time he and Wilbur had arranged for the meetup, he was still terribly alone. After everything he’d done in preparation, after all that anticipation, it was all for nothing. 

_Does anyone still care?_

Five, ten, then fifteen minutes after the time, he spotted someone on the horizon with a trident. As they drew nearer, Tommy could clearly make out who it was.

Dream.

As Dream made landfall and shook the water off his cloak, Tommy jogged over.

“Dream, buddy, hi!” Tommy greeted, voice slightly wobbly.

“Hello, Tommy.” Dream scratched at the back of his head, “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright Dream,” Tommy said, suddenly wringing his hands together, “Ah, right sorry, I almost forgot.”

Tommy began to unstrap his armor, but Dream stopped him.

“You, uh, you don’t need to do that today.” Dream said to him. Tommy had confusion written on his face but began to re-tie the straps of the armor. When he was done, he looked back up at Dream.

“By the way, did you happen to see anyone on your way over?” Dream thought for a moment.

“Uh, no. Actually, I haven’t really seen anyone today.” Tommy visibly deflated.

“So… no one showed up then.” He mumbled to himself, voice cracking a bit as the realization dawned on him. Dream moved to put an arm around his shoulder.

“Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry,” Dream spoke with a sickeningly sweet tone. “Hey, I’m here right? We’re friends, Tommy, I’m here for you. It’s okay.”

“But what about Wilbur and Tubbo? Or Fundy and Quackity and Phil? Wilbur and I wrote out invitations the other day! How could they have missed them?” Dream gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Maybe they didn’t see them? Or maybe they were, like, super busy and couldn’t come?” Dream suggested, but Tommy’s expression was getting darker by the second. 

Tommy pulled away from Dream’s grasp and started off to the portal. Dream called after him, but when he received no reply, he began to follow. He cleared the long obsidian path that spanned from his campsite to the base portal, ignoring the footfalls and shrieks of ghasts behind him. Dream found him in front of the portal, staring at something in his hand.

“Tommy?”

Tommy observed the compass in his hands with glazed over eyes, following the lazily spinning needle. His gaze traced the engraving in the side.

_Your Tubbo_

“Do you know about this compass, Dream?” Tommy spoke without turning.

“Uh, yeah, it points to Tubbo at all times, right? Tubbo had one that did the same for you.” Tommy’s shoulders stiffened suddenly.

“Had?” Dream shuffled a bit behind him.

“Yeah, I heard he lost it or burned it or something.” Tommy turned back to Dream, eyes wide.

“Are you sure?” Tommy almost whispered, voice nearly swallowed by the stifling windy heat of the nether. Dream nodded.

Without another word, Tommy moved to stand at the end of the blackstone platform. With his whole arm shaking, he took his compass and held it out over the gurgling lava below. He stared at it with an expression of pain, previously unnoticed tears making tracks in the ash on his face. Dream put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the edge, and pushing the compass to his chest.

“Sleep on it, Tommy. Don’t make decisions that you might regret later.”

Tommy looked at the compass again, his hand still shaking. He looked up at Dream, teary-eyed, and nodded. Dream patted his shoulder.

As Tommy turned and walked back over the obsidian bridge, head hung low and shoulders slumped, Dream smiled to himself.

No one saw him take thirteen pristine invitations, written in Wilbur’s graceful loopy cursive, out of the bottom of his bag. No one saw him take a half-empty bottle of sleeping potion off his belt and toss it off the path.

No one bore witness to the thirteen papers fluttering gently to the hungry, bubbling lava, bursting into flames before they even hit the surface.


	2. 2

Tommy absolutely did _not_ sleep on anything. 

He returned to his tent, head hung low and arms held limply at his sides. He sat just at the edge of the wooden base, facing the ocean, knees tucked up to his chest. His eyes followed the dolphins in the clear bay, passing around a few strands of seaweed, as he thought.

No one cared, did they? He’d gone so far to ensure they could, and would, visit him, yet no one showed. Time and time again, he was left to rot by himself, with no one but Dream to keep him company. Why did he even bother with this _absolute_ shit?

Tommy watched as the sun began to dip below the horizon, dull eyes blurry and unfocused.

What would Dream think, if he just… wasn’t there? Would he be pissed? Would he tell anyone? Would anyone bother looking for him? 

Maybe they’d care then. Maybe they’d realize their fuck up, exiling him, sentencing him to never be heard from again.

Tommy let out a frustrated groan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes until colors and shapes swam in his vision. He continued to sink deeper and deeper into his dark mood when a thought struck him.

He _could_ leave. There physically was nothing keeping him from doing so. Nothing stopping him from just packing his shit up and walking away.

He had no obligations to anyone, not even Dream.

And just like that, the thought was stuck to him like glue. 

For a long while, he just let the ideas bounce around, slowly growing and getting bigger. He sat for hours, staring out across the ocean, moonlight reflecting off the water; he went over the possibilities again and again until the stars began to fade, his consciousness going with them.

Tommy woke up with a start just as the sun touched its highest point, legs cramped and a crick in his neck. For a blissful moment, he remained unaware of the previous day’s events and wondered why he’d fallen asleep in such an odd place.

The memory slowly began to float back as he caught sight of his compass, discarded on the floor of the tent. As he stood up, his back to the sea, he took a second to process everything that had happened. 

He bent down to pick the compass up with a shaking hand. As he observed the needle, steadfastly pointing behind him, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to run the other way; to disappear and never return.

For a moment, his fingers tightened around the reminder of his once best friend, thoughts running miles a minute.

With his mind made up, he set the compass down on the bed and turned to his backpack on the ground, digging out a paper and quill.

He wrote out a list of his meager belongings, along with a list of survival materials. Food, water, tools, and coal were at the top of his priorities, so with as much resolve as he could manage, Tommy set to work.

\---

Between the time Tommy had chosen to run and Dream’s next visit, he’d changed his mind about 12 times. 

Sometimes he’d be so sure that he was making the right decision, cussing out Dream and his ex-friends aloud as he prepared, certainty practically emanating from him.

Sometimes he’d be plagued with guilt and anxiety at the prospect of giving up on everything, of leaving behind everyone and everything that had ever meant anything to him. He’d tear up, desperately reminding himself that no one cared anyway.

Sometimes, he was wracked with panic and indecisiveness, fearing for how Dream would react, knowing that Tommy had turned tail and ran, despite everything he’d done for him.  
Dream was the only friend he had left, how could Tommy just leave him?

By the day Dream was due for a visit he was worn down, constant anxiety upsetting his stomach and preventing him from eating too much, not that he ate much anyway. Despite it all, he was finally sure of his decision, a shaky plan running on repeat in his mind.

He already had his backpack packed with essential items, all he would have to do is wait for Dream to leave, then pick a direction and start walking. He would walk for as long as his supplies permitted, then he would set up camp. What exactly he would do next, he wasn’t sure. 

At one point, he’d been struck with sadness at the prospect of never returning; the mere thought of leaving _everything_ he’d fought for behind was overwhelming. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, so he'd made a compromise- he’d return eventually. He didn’t know when, but it sparked just a bit of hope in him, the belief that he could fix things strengthening his resolve.

By the time Dream showed, Tommy was absolutely brimming with nervous energy, too close to boiling over for comfort. 

He did his best to play it off as his usual loudness, although it had been absent for a while. Dream seemed to buy it, chuckling a little as he cleared out a pit in the ground. 

Tommy tossed his armor and tools into the pit, but there wasn’t the usual despair accompanying the boom of the TNT; he hadn’t planned on keeping them anyway.

Time with Dream seemed to crawl by even slower than usual, the span of a few hours seeming more like several days as conflicted emotions knocked around in Tommy’s skull. Finally, after chopping what seemed like enough wood to last through the winter, Dream decided he’d had enough of talking about trade deals and politics. He bid Tommy goodnight, strolling down to the shore, and taking his leave with his trident.

Once Dream had disappeared from Tommy’s line of sight, he dashed straight to where he’d left his backpack in Logsted. He hastily shrugged it on, wanting to get as much distance between himself and Dream as possible. Almost as an afterthought, he snagged Wilbur’s old coat, left by Ghostbur from his last visit, off the furnace. The raggedy thing made his heart ache, but he didn’t have a jacket, and not only was it winter, but he had no idea what laid beyond the trees in the distance. 

He spared a last glance at the Prime Log and untethered his mooshroom with a pat on its head, allowing it to wander out into the field outside Logsted. Once out himself, he threw his gaze in the opposite direction of his tent, eyes narrowed. 

With a final peek at his discs in the enderchest, he hiked up the backpack straps. With the orange and pink rays of the setting sun painting the sky above him, he set out; no planned path in mind, the sound of a compass rattling in his pocket filling the silence around him.

\---

Silence never lasted long around Tommy. Only a few hours after he’d set out, he had started to nervously chatter to himself, voicing most of his thoughts aloud. As he ventured through the forest, he kept a running commentary to himself, sometimes humming tunes or staging debates to prevent himself from ruminating, from sinking into regret and turning around due to guilt.

He managed to stay optimistic for that first night, but soon found himself slipping back into pessimism, his own voice only enough to keep him company for so long. Through the next day, he continued to trudge through the forest, finding himself in more trouble than he anticipated.

Since he’d left, he had nearly been mauled by a pack of wild wolves, stumbled and fell into more pits in the ground than he could count, just barely saved himself from pitching forward into a ravine, managing to twist his ankle in the process, and took on a pillager scouting party all on his own. As he laid out his sleeping roll in a clearing on the second night, he was considerably more battered and bruised than before he left. 

He stared up at the just barely visible stars in the sky as some pork cooked over the fire he’d managed to build, wondering not for the first time if he had made the right choice. He thought about Wilbur and Tubbo and L’maburg, even though it made his chest clench. With a sigh, he set out to manage his injuries with what little he had.

No, no, they didn’t care about him, why should he care about them? After all, he was TommyInnit, the biggest man, the most independent person you could find. He didn’t need anyone! He could get by just fine on his own.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes darted to his communicator in the grass, having fallen from his backpack, the firelight flickering off the screen. He hadn’t touched it in days, having disabled it after he was ghosted. He stared at it for a moment, a weak desire to turn it back on quickly stamped out, knowing no one would want to talk to him, even if he hadn’t cut them off.

After eating quickly, he fell into a fitful sleep, the sounds of explosions and shouting and arguing following him into his dreams.

\---

The longer Tommy walked, the harder the journey became. Only a few days after his initial departure, he was already incredibly worn down, injuries new and old making it hard for him to keep the pace he wanted. 

He spent almost a day and a half wading his way through a dense swamp, dark clouds slowly forming overhead. The weather was not in his favor at all, slowly becoming colder and colder, a sure sign of the fast-approaching peak of winter. Fighting through waist-deep swampy water certainly was not helping him out.

The effects of sleep deprivation and poor nutrition had begun to catch up to him as well and by the time he had reached the edge of the swamp, he was left shaking like a leaf with even darker circles under his eyes than before he left.

He was running out of bandages, having given up on keeping his injuries dry after his time in the swamp. Burns, scrapes, and gashes were a consistent sting, his ankle was painful and slightly swollen, his chest was bruised and ached constantly.

All of his woes culminated in what was possibly the biggest L yet- the swamp had dumped him at the edge of a snowy tundra.

Tommy wanted to scream when the endless blankets of white came into view. How could he _possibly_ be this unlucky?

So, as he set up camp on the chilly edge of the swamp, he was left with a decision- risk everything and go through the tundra, or risk everything by going back to Dream, who would have already discovered his absence.

After getting a little fire going, Tommy sat back on his bedroll and sighed, head in his hands. How pathetic he was, once a headstrong and bright-eyed revolutionary, reduced to a malnourished, shaking, sorry excuse for a brother, friend, and former co-leader. He shrugged on Wilbur’s old coat, pulling it up around the sides of his face, and fell back. 

The decision had already been made for him. After all, what did it matter if he made it to the other side of the tundra or not? There was no one left that cared, and they proved as such when they ghosted him, leaving him with no one but Dream. After all, that’s why he’d left in the first place. At least, if he didn’t make it, then he wouldn’t have to worry anymore...

Without thinking, Tommy reached into his bag and brought out his compass, its needle, barely visible in the waning daylight, still pointing resolutely behind him. He traced the engraving on the side with his thumb, a deep sense of hurt filling him, making his chest tight. He didn’t notice the tears running down his cheeks until he wiped a hand over his face, pulling it away wet; and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to stop himself. He just let himself shake with grief, breaths coming fast and shallow, clutching the memento of his once best friend to his chest as tears soaked into the collar of his late brother’s coat. A flurry of why’s filled his mind-

_Why me? Why did they betray me? Why couldn’t I be allowed a single fuck up?_

Tommy let himself cry for a time until he was reduced to silent tears and the occasional sniffle. Tired and unbelievably drained, his mind finally quieted and he was left to fall into the warm embrace of unconsciousness, hand never relenting its grasp on the compass.

When Tommy awoke the next morning, he felt terribly empty.

He slowly packed up his things, tossing them haphazardly into his backpack and strapping the bedroll back onto the top. He then used the last of his bandages to wrap up the worst of his wounds, a poor attempt to prevent them from worsening further. After eating some of the leftover pork, he draped his thin blanket over his shoulders over Wilbur’s coat and shrugged on the backpack.

He turned to the blindingly white tundra and began to walk, not sparing a single glance back.

\---

As Tommy shuffled through the snow, water slowly soaking into his shoes, he did his best to ignore the way the wind howled around him and ripped at his clothes. Dark clouds hung overhead, allowing for a sense of dread to pool in his stomach.

If the weather remained as it was, Tommy estimated he could go for a day, maybe a day and a half at most. If it got any worse, he assumed he wouldn't be able to start a fire, and well, he didn’t need to think about what would happen then yet. Not once did he think about turning around.

As the sun moved across the sky, hidden by the clouds, Tommy was getting more and more drained. The air was freezing; the sharp, cold gusts of wind forced their way through his measly three layers, chilling him to the bone. The torch burning in his hand did nothing to warm him, having all but lost feeling in the ends of his limbs. His teeth chattered, limbs shivering relentlessly.

He pushed forward, even as the hours began to blend together, with nothing but the occasional spruce tree or river to break up the monotonous hills of white. As time went on, Tommy found his thoughts becoming muddled and disjointed, bouncing around in his skull incomprehensibly, like rocks in a tumbler.

As his joints got stiffer and stiffer, each step became a battle to stay upright. Every few paces, he would stumble, constantly on the edge of falling over.

Finally, Tommy lost his battle, tripping over his dragging feet and pitching forward into the snow. The torch fell from his hand, still stubbornly burning as it rested against the ground. With weak, shaking arms, he rolled himself over to face the sky, head lying against the ground.

Hazy blue eyes watched through strands of damp blond hair as his shallow breaths turned to mist before him. The snow felt soft, warm almost, even though he knew Wilbur’s jacket was getting soaked. He was so, so very tired. The flickering torchlight made his head throb painfully. 

Tommy allowed all the tension to leave his muscles, a small, bitter smile gracing his chapped lips. A little nap wouldn’t hurt, right? He figured it was well deserved after all the shit he’d been through. His eyelids drooped, and as the snow began to settle lightly on his face, he welcomed unconsciousness warmly.

He was none the wiser as not a few minutes later, a tall, cloaked figure came fighting through the wind in the distance, drawn to him by the torch slowly flickering at his side. The figure picked up their pace, jogging until they stood beside him. They took in a sharp breath as they dropped to their knees, looming over him. His hair was brushed back by a gloved hand, and a quiet murmur of _what the fuck_ was lost to the wind as their shoulders stiffened.

The figure swiftly shed their cloak and draped it over Tommy, before slinging his backpack over their shoulders and gently looping their arms under his knees and behind his back. They stood with no issue, keeping him close to their body and turning back the way they’d come, setting a quick pace, careful not to jostle him too much. Soon, the torch became but a flickering light in the distance, dim, but not yet put out entirely. The figure never spared a glance back.

\---

Somewhere in Dream’s territory, the man himself was left fuming as he paced back and forth in the dim light of his base.

When he’d dropped by Tommy’s campsite for his normal visit four days ago, the exile was nowhere to be found. Not in the forest, not in the mines, not in the ocean, or anywhere else he could think to look. Dream had checked half a mile in every direction and _still_ hadn’t found him. That left two possibilities for the circumstances of his disappearance-

He had already ruled out Tommy’s death. If he’d died, he would have returned as a ghost; it just didn’t seem feasible to Dream that he’d rest in peace.

That lead Dream to the other possibility- Tommy had most likely run. 

Dream couldn’t deny that he was surprised; he hadn’t thought Tommy would be so desperate to get away that he’d _actually_ do it. He figured that Tommy still had enough attachment to L’manburg and its citizens to stay or at least attachment to his discs, but clearly, he’d been wrong.

He hadn’t informed Tubbo of Tommy's disappearance yet, choosing to keep the information to himself until he could figure out how exactly to use it.

Dream frowned behind his mask, stopping in his relentless pacing for a moment.

He had no leads on where Tommy was. He’d left most of his materials behind and left no traces of which direction he’d gone. This was a problem for Dream; the wilderness in the SMP’s borders stretched for tens of thousands of blocks out in the directions that had been available to Tommy, and though he had power that normal players didn’t, he couldn’t search every mile on his own.

The dilemma left him beyond frustrated, but he was dead set on finding Tommy. He was an essential pawn, one Dream couldn’t lose quite yet. 

One way or another, _he would come out on top in the end_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the style shift in this chapter is a bit jarring from the last chapter, I was going for a vibe and my normal style just didn’t translate well. Regardless, I hope you liked it! It was a little more difficult to write like this, but I kinda like how it came out :)
> 
> Also as a side note- I will be ignoring the crimson egg/bloodvines plotline for the sake of preventing the story from getting too cluttered. Sorry :(
> 
> Next chapter hopefully in a few days.
> 
> As always kudos/comments are well appreciated 👍


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry mr. technoblade, i see your rejection of the canon FD and im politely choosing to ignore it. i live for FD, so you can pry it out of my cold, dead hands.

Technoblade was a violent being by nature. It was just some inherent part of him that had always been there. 

Throughout his childhood, there had been urges here and there, though they were never anything he couldn’t handle. Any steam that couldn’t be blown off by hacking away at training dummies in the backyard with swords, would be talked out with Wilbur or Phil.

As he grew older and his shapeshifter blood became apparent, his instincts became harder to control. He had become a risk to those he loved, constantly on the edge of snapping at someone if they got a little too rough.

So, when the desire for blood became too strong, he left.

It had been difficult for his little rag-tag family. Phil, though he loved them, was often far too busy for his own good, which left mostly him and Wilbur to take on the task of keeping Tommy in check. 

Wilbur had been very understanding, though Techno knew that tears had been shed when he thought he wasn’t looking. He was relieved that Wilbur had taken it so well- it had taken just a bit of the guilt off his shoulders.

Tommy had been a different story.

Tommy had cried for hours, never seeming to calm down no matter how long Wilbur and Techno sat with him. It probably hadn’t helped that he wasn’t let in on exactly why Techno was leaving. It hurt him to see Tommy like that, even more so knowing he was the cause.

Though it weighed on him, he knew it was necessary. He’d much rather deal with tears and hurt feelings then the aftermath of snapping at his brothers, the consequences of which he was certain would be dire.

So, he had bid his brothers adieu, and set off to wander the Servers, looking for a place to finally fulfill his bloodthirsty nature.

After only a few weeks time, he’d come across a Server that didn’t quite adhere to the world’s laws of death, allowing one to respawn countless times; allowing for what normally would be considered a horrible bloodbath, to turn into friendly competition.

He stayed in the Server for a number of years, encouraged as the urges were becoming easier to control once again. So long as he had an outlet, he could focus on other things in his spare time. For a while, he was content, but he soon found a catch.

Technoblade hadn’t always been subject to the cacophony of voices in his head. 

They’d shown up soon after he’d regularly begun to participate in competitions on the Server. At first, there had only been a few, just quiet murmurs he could pass off as the wind.

The longer he stayed, the larger the number grew, until there were thousands of voices ringing out in his mind at the worst of times.

“ _Blood for the Blood God!_ ” They’d crow as he mercilessly tore through opponent after opponent, never seeming to tire. 

Even after all these years, Techno could never figure out whether he himself was the blood god, or if it was something else entirely.

Though they had been concerning at first, Techno eventually grew accustomed to them. They usually were quiet, just an unintelligible hum in the back of his mind. Sometimes it felt as though they weren’t there at all.

When they did show up, it always ended up in one of two ways for him- annoyance, accompanied by a pounding headache, or a massacre.

They’d been there during the Manberg Festival, a night Techno regretted ever happened. They had been conflicted, the many shouts desperate for blood clashing with the ones that aligned with his own hesitance to kill Tubbo. He’d been overwhelmed, and eventually the side riddled with bloodlust was appeased. He rarely could deny them when there were so, so many of them.

They’d been there during the War of the 16th too. Anguished cries for the loss of his brother and the outrage at having been used for materials, then discarded like a broken tool, was overbearing. He’d given the voices exactly what they had wanted, because at the time, he had wanted it too. 

\---

One day, they were there as he made his way back to his secret home in the tundra, seemingly hellbent on pissing him off as he trudged through the howling wind. 

Normally he’d humor them a bit, cracking a few dry jokes to combat their relentless taunting and teasing, but with the worsening winter weather it was becoming harder to easily navigate the bleak, rolling hills of white. The constant laughter and shouts of “ _Technolost!_ ”, “so-and-so _is at your base!_ ” and the quiet chanting of the letter E was grating on his nerves.

He was doing his best to ignore them when one voice suddenly cut through the others:

‘ _What’s that light, there in the distance?_ ” In the second it took Techno to process what was said, most of the other voices began to chime in, the chatter ringing in his mind as they all reiterated the same thing to him at once, copying one another like lemmings.

“Huh? What light-?” He saw it, just on the horizon, flickering through the fog. With a short huff, he pulled his cloak tighter around him, and set off at a jog. 

Maybe it was Phil? No that wouldn’t make sense, Phil never came from that direction.

As he came closer, breaths turning to mist in the air, he could begin to make out a form laying on the ground, the torch next to them barely enough to light up their face. 

He drew in a sharp breath, dropping to his knees beside them. With a gloved hand, he gently brushed the blond hair out of their face and- yep, that was undoubtedly his poor, idiot brother, dying out in the snow. 

Tommy’s face was paler than Techno had ever seen it. Even with what had to be at least a few layers on him, he looked too thin to be considered healthy; He had no gloves, no boots, nothing to even partially prepare him for the incredibly harsh tundra. The only thing that suggested even a shred of life was left in him was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

A brief bolt of panic shocked Tehcno into action. The voices rose in volume as his muttered _what the fuck_ was thrown to the wind. He shrugged off his cloak, side eyeing what he determined to be Tommy’s backpack on the ground next to him. He threw his coat over him and grabbed the backpack before picking Tommy up as carefully as he could manage. 

Waves of panicked murmurs of ' _Tommy!_ ' overwhelmed most of Techno’s thoughts as he began to run back to his home. He heaved a sigh when the cabin came into view, warm lights rather inviting at the moment. 

After clearing the stairs two at a time, he burst through the door, not even bothering to stomp the snow off his boots. As he stood in the entryway, trying to calmly decide what his next move was, the voices all tried to shout different advice to him at once. He groaned in frustration as he gently set Tommy down in the chair by the fireplace, the smoldering remains of the morning's fire not doing much to help him. 

“Just shut _up_ for a second, will ya?” He snarled through clenched teeth. To his great surprise, they obeyed, volume shrinking to quiet whispers that he could almost completely ignore.

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, fingers snagging on the tangles that unfortunately came with seasonally thicker hair. He spared a glance at Tommy from the corner of his eye; still pale, still wet, but still breathing.

Techno shifted to open one of his chests, pulling out an armful of spare blankets and pillows. He tossed them on the floor in front of the fireplace before grabbing a few split logs from the pile just outside the door and adding them to the smoldering pile of charcoal in the hearth. His eyebrows knit together as he unsheathed his sword to prod at the hot ashes, encouraging them to catch on the new fuel.

How the hell had Tommy managed to even come close to his base? Phil had told him that he’d been exiled, but Techno didn’t think he’d be as far out as he was. 

The fire caught and slowly began to creep over the dry wood. Techno turned his attention to Tommy, still wrapped up in his cloak.

Tommy's hair was matted and dirty, his face was smudged with mud, with little scrapes littering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. A nasty, festering wound stood out on his jawline. 

Techno had never seen Tommy so exhausted; not during his first exile, not after the festival, not even after the War of the 16th. It made his chest tighten, a spark of unbidden anger settling in his bones.

He took a deep breath, and began going through the motions of patching him up, lucky that after 4 years in the arctic, he was still well versed in treating hypothermia.

He made quick work of shucking away Tommy's wet, freezing clothes, replacing them with some of his old cold weather garments. His limbs had been checked for frostbite, and while they might blister, Techno was fairly certain nothing would be permanent. Then, he dragged a few sleeping mats out of another chest and stacked them in front of the fireplace. 

He took a minute to arrange the blankets and pillows into what could only be described as a nest, before gently moving Tommy from the chair to the middle of it. 

Once he was content with the positions of the blankets around his brother, Techno fell back in the chair with a huff, slouching down a bit.

With nothing else to do for the day but wait for Tommy to wake up, he grabbed one of the books he'd gotten from the nearby village, mindlessly skimming the pages as his thoughts wandered elsewhere.

When Tommy became conscious enough to hold a conversation, they would have to have an... important talk. One that most certainly would require preparing on his part.

\---

The first time Tommy woke up, he didn’t truly wake up. He felt as though someone had poured honey into his brain, struggling to understand why he had woken up at all; though his eyes remained closed, he could tell he was not where he was when he passed out. 

He was terribly cold, still shivering slightly, but he was dry and could hear the crackling of a fire instead of the howling wind from before. He could feel the heavy, comforting weight of blankets atop him and pillows beneath his head, a far cry from the snow he remembered. Instead of opening his eyes, he just shifted slightly, curling in on himself a bit more and relaxing his sore muscles. He took a deep breath, willing himself to stop shaking, not yet ready to deal with what had happened.

For a moment, he laid still, gently drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, content to stay quiet. At the sound of a quiet cough, his eyes flicked open, too tired to acknowledge the mild panic he felt. 

Ah, so that's where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about putting this on hold for a while to work on some other stuff, Im kinda feeling cramped by the pacing of the smp plotline and I want to mess around with some fantasy world building + Sbi family, so maybe keep an eye out if that's your jam? Probably up in a few days? 🥺👉👈
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! I apologize for any mistakes/if this chapter ended in a weird place, I'm losing inspiration for this plot and just wanted to publish the rest of what I had edited so I could try my hand at something else for a while. I may revisit it later, but we'll see
> 
> (Kudos/comments appreciated :))

**Author's Note:**

> not me adding a whole ass 2800 word first chapter/prologue because I wanted this to be up to date whatareyoutalkingabout-
> 
> I have more plot for this, I promise we'll get there eventually. This was more set up than anything else :)
> 
> I will wholeheartedly attempt to match this length in the second chapter, but I cannot guarantee consistent chapter lengths with both the pace of the smp plot and classes kicking my ass :( I would have split this one up, but I thought it wouldn't be great to have 2 chapters of stream retelling before I got to the actual canon divergence part.
> 
> Next chapter tomorrow hopefully, if my brain allows me to finish this 😔   
> Comments/kudos always well appreciated :)


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